After the Bullets Stopped Flying
by Rhoswen19
Summary: From the moment the bullets stopped flying in "Legend part 2" to when Callen goes back to work in "Identity". My take on what we missed in those four months. That pretty much sums it up.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Now here's a surprise… I don't own NCIS: LA or any of its characters. If I did Callen would get hurt more often and would wear a thigh holster in every episode.

A/N: #1 This was born during a talk with my friend Lizz (lizard971), we were both complaining about two things: we didn't get to enjoy the whump because the screen went black too soon and there wasn't any hint of Callen's recovery time. So once the seed was planted in my mind, it wasn't long 'til it grew on its own.

#2. The story is complete but I won't post it all 'cause I still don't have all the chapters betaed but It'sMyFavoriteSong is working on it and I don't like to pressure people so when she's done you'll get them. And while we're on the subject, taking care of my screwed up grammar is not an easy job so thank you for that!

#3. And this is the last one, I promise. Reviews are greatly appreciated so if you have the time please share your thoughts with me. I want to be better and I can only do that with your help.

Shutting up now…

After the Bullets Stopped Flying

_By: Laz_

Chapter 1

_Sam's POV_

Sam had seen his fair share of action in and after his time in the SEALS, but this was different. This wasn't a special op, this wasn't part of a case, it was just a random moment in life, nothing important about it. He had dropped G at his place, wherever it was at the time, countless times before. Why would this be any different? Maybe because… what was it that he said? Oh yeah, that he felt like he was being watched. That should've alerted something, but it didn't. We joked like we always did; our line of work makes life tough enough as it is, so we need to lighten it a bit whenever we can.

But then it happened.

I almost missed them because the pretty girls were slightly distracting, but it didn't take me long to put it together: the speeding van + the gun + G = disaster. That math is _never_ wrong. I got out of the car, I drew my gun, I screamed his name… and it didn't make one bit of a difference. I saw him take hit, after hit, after hit 'til the force of the bullets threw his body to the ground. I ran as fast as I could, but I saw every damn detail in slow motion. I don't know how many shots I fired at the van, but one look at my partner down on the floor and all thoughts of taking out the van flew from my mind.

I knelt next to him, grabbed him by the neck, and cradled his head in my lap. I kept telling him to stay with me, but I'm still not sure if the words were out loud or if I was begging him inside my head. His breathing came in short, shallow breaths but I took comfort in the fact that he was breathing. The pain reflected in his eyes was raw, and it made my gut twist. I tried not to lose more time than necessary, but as I made the call for help I could see his white shirt turning crimson at an alarming speed.

His eyes were barely open, and the pool of blood under us kept growing. I knew I had to put pressure on the wound, but there were so many… I just didn't know where I should start. I chose the largest and most profuse wound, and pressed hard enough to stop the blood flow without causing him more damage. He stiffened in response to the pressure but other than that he barely acknowledged the action.

There's a crowd gathering, that much Sam's aware of, but he doesn't care. His buddy is dying in front of him and he feels powerless. Helplessly he watched as the man before him fought to survive, knowing that there was nothing he could really do but keep talking to him until help arrived. Then, to his horror, G suddenly began gasping and blood began sliding down the corner of his mouth. In shock, Sam failed to realized the meaning of it all because just as suddenly, Callen went completely still in his arms. He was unprepared for the man in front of him to stop breathing completely.

"Come on, buddy. Don't do this to me!" he yelled at his unconscious partner.

After a moment, Sam carefully laid him flat on the ground, tipping G's head back and straightening his neck. Sitting back on his heels, he placed his hands and silently counted the compressions and breathed for his partner. Never in his life had he thought he would need to practiced CPR on Callen, but he prayed the son of a bitch would start breathing on his own soon because he couldn't stand it. Before he realized what's going on, was being pushed aside by paramedicsand watching as they tried to save his best friend's life.

They cut away Callen's clothes, putting gauze that rapidly got soaked, on all the wounds. Sam was a grown man, he had seen everything there was to see, but when he saw them sliding a tube down his partner's throat he had to look away. He heard bits and pieces, multiple gunshot wounds, collapsed lung, internal bleeding, some arterial bleeding and the most terrifying words he ever heard in his life… _"He's got no pulse!"_

He heard the words and the unstopping beep, when he looked again and saw the metal paddles he didn't need to be told what they were for. He winced as Callen's body convulsed from the shock to his already damaged chest.

"Again!" the paramedic shouted. G looked like a lifeless puppet bouncing off the sidewalk.

Once more, Sam flinched and unconsciously prayed, but nothing happened. They upped the jules and they shocked him again. The alarm stopped. The monitor beeped, paused, then beeped again. They'd gotten him back. For how long though, Sam didn't know.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Now here's a surprise… I don't own NCIS: LA or any of its characters. If I did Callen would get hurt more often and would wear a thigh holster in every episode._

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the story alerts guys I appreciate it. To the others who read and didn't comment, I don't think I'm being greedy if I ask for more reviews, right? Cause the story had 80 hits …just saying. Did I mention the story is complete? I'm just throwing that out there =P

Once again thanks to It'sMyFavoriteSong for fixing as many horrors as she could.

Anyways, here's chapter two, enjoy!

Chapter 2

_Kensi POV_

It's not the first time Kensi has to sit in a waiting room. The fact that it is a hospital waiting room makes no difference to her. Life is full of them. Whether it's in rows or against the walls, the chairs are still cheap and uncomfortable. Cushion or no cushion, they still make your butt go numb given enough time. They can have a TV showing some brainless sitcom or a coffee table with a mountain of old issues of magazines with missing pages; either way, no one really cares about it. There can be lots of strangers or a few people close to you, but no one is capable of providing the comfort that everyone is seeking.

Kensi raises her head slowly, brushing the rebel strand of hair away from her face. She focuses on the clock that hangs above the nurses' station. Seconds turn into a full minute. That minute turn into a full hour. The clock on the wall shows 7pm, she checks her own watch and it agrees. Visiting hours officially begin.

She vacates the chair and heads to the security guard in front of the ICU doors. He hands her the visitor pass, which she pins to her shirt before making her way to the somewhat familiar room. Through the glass window she sees him. G Callen is still present in the land of the living, fighting hard to remain in it. Her training doesn't allow her to sit with her back to the door, so she moves to the other side of the room where she can keep an eye on Callen and the door, just in case trouble decides to pay a visit.

It never ceases to surprise her just how much stuff is needed to help him win his fight. There are multiple bags hanging from both sides of his bed: supplements, medication, blood… even if you can't name it, it's there. It always bothers her to see him breathing through a tube, it just feels so wrong to see her fearless partner like that.

If you're going to list the wrongs, you can also add the defibrillator that's in the room in case his heart fails. Apparently because of all the blood loss he suffered and the restrain it was causing his heart, his heart stopped beating right after they settled him on this room after the surgery. It happened again twice that same night… they decided it was safer to keep one at reach just in case.

For the first time tonight, Kensi looked at him… really _him_ and not all the medical equiptement that practically drowns him out. He looks awfully pale, and it makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out that much. She'd seen him many times with them from working too much and not sleeping enough, it came with the job description.

What didn't come with that description was how to walk through a crime scene and put the feeling of despair aside. It didn't teach you to keep calm after seeing pints of half dried blood on the sidewalk, discarded medical supplies everywhere, and bloody boot prints that indicated that the victim would most likely not have survived. Then tears threaten to break the dam because you know that victim, because you've worked with him for some time and you think of him as a close friend. And you've just been told that out of the multiple shots directed at him, five met their target. Then your brain, as if to mock you, makes a connection on how sick it is that it happened on the fifth of May.

Sam pulls her from the memory when she senses him enter the room. He stands in the doorway for a moment before sitting on the end of Callen's bed. He had been having a talk with the doctors about Callen. Sam looks tired, despite the several days off Macy had given him. Kensi couldn't blame him for not getting enough rest, no one was these days. She can't imagine how he feels. Not only had he witnessed the incident, but because Callen didn't have a next of kin, he had taken it upon himself to make all the decisions regarding Callen's health.

"He's not looking too hot," she says. They can both see it, so one of them might as well say it out loud.

"But he is." This earns a raised eyebrow from Kensi.

"Come again?" He gives her a small, playful smile that quickly turns serious.

"He has a fever. Apparently he's developed an infection, which isn't too uncommon for gunshot wounds. They say that as long as the fever doesn't get too high, its harmless, but if the fever climbs any higher it could cause brain damage."

"Seems they're not having much luck controlling it," she said referring to Callen's clammy looking skin.

"No, his temperature is still rising, despite the antibiotics they've been treating him with, so they're gonna change tactics."

"Worse case scenario?"

"If this new antibiotic they tried today doesn't work, they may need to operate again, but they don't want to because it could be too much for his system to handle, weakened as he is right now."

"He just can't catch a break."

"You know G, he likes to keep things interesting."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Now here's a surprise… I don't own NCIS: LA or any of its characters. If I did Callen would get hurt more often and would wear a thigh holster in every episode._

A/N: I have to apologize; when I said the story was complete I didn't mean that was the last of it. Only that I have all the chapters in my possession and ready to be posted but I was hoping for more reviews. On that note, there are still two more chapters after this one and from here on things are from Callen's perspective. Anyways, here you go…

Callen's return to the land of the living. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

With the job he chose, long hours of sleep weren't always part of the deal, and he was fine with it. Normally he needed but a few hours to be functional, but right then and there he didn't want to wake up.

It felt like one of those days when you know you're awake but refuse to open your eyes. Choosing to hug the covers, roll on your side and wait, hoping sleep will claim you again. It didn't happen often, which pretty much sent an alert of what was happening to him. He didn't need to smell the antiseptic in the air, hear the machines working and he definitely didn't need to feel the pull of the needles under his skin to know he was in a hospital. He really didn't want to know about other intruding objects there had to be. He felt heavy like his limbs had become lead weights; even if he tried raising a finger he wouldn't know if he succeeded. He's not entirely sure about what happened, but the world can wait until he's ready to deal with it. Darkness had been lurking, waiting for its chance to pull him back, and he let it.

He had fragments of words and distorted images as the only memories from his in and out of the battle for consciousness. This time, reality was slowly making itself known, leaving the darkness and numbness behind. Forcing his eyes open, he wasn't prepared for the brightness of the room that assaulted him. A roar of pain reverberated throughout his entire body when he attempted sitting up.

Fire burned red hot in his arm and his gut. His skin felt tighter than a drum, and his muscles could be made out of jello for all he knew. It was a slight movement, but it caused him complete and utter agony. He could feel his heart hammering out of control inside his chest, and his blood thumping frenetically in his veins.

It was becoming hard to breathe, he tried greedily to take in oxygen, but there was something in the way. That's when he realized he couldn't breathe because there was an object stuck inside his throat. He was choking on it. Alarms started blaring but he didn't care, all he wanted was someone to turn on the air and off the pain.

Suddenly a sweet voice breaks through the confusion and pain he's experiencing. The first thing he sees is a silhouette checking the machines. He's already in huge amounts of pain so he risks moving his head to the other side just a fraction and sees a nurse injecting something in the IV. She has the blackest hair he's ever seen, and when she looks at him he stares at her pleadingly, unable to form words. _Make it stop!_

She tells him everything is going to be fine and he wants to believe her, but he's always been the glass half-empty kind of guy. The frantic sounds begin to subside to their normal dull mode, but his breathing is still off.

"You need to slow down your breathing," she says, and he tries, but each fast breath felt like a blade shredding his lungs.

"Just breathe as you would do normally. I assure you it's there to help you," she repeats and he compiles.

"That's it… you're doing perfect." The cheering wasn't necessary but her voice has the interesting effect of calming him. He looks into her dark green eyes as he battles a wave of lightheadedness. "Don't fight it, you need your rest."

He was pleased to find out the vent was gone the next time he awoke. It had been replaced with a nasal cannula. While it was less invasive, it still annoyed the hell out of him. Although, if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that breathing was a troublesome task. He couldn't take a deep breath without having to shut his eyes in response to the pain it brought.

The more time he spent conscious, which was a bit more every day; the easier it got to catalogue his aches and pains. His left arm and leg bothered him, but the most damage seemed to be centered on his torso. He wasn't all that lucid when the doctor gave him the rundown of his injuries, but it was fairly obvious his lungs among other internal organs took a hell of a beating.

He also discovered that as a consequence he was still too weak to move, even though weeks had passed by and he was healing accordingly. What happened to disturb him even worse than his sore body, were the images that penetrated his subconscious. Some were flashes of his ordeal: the sounds of gunshots and people screaming, the smell of burned rubber on asphalt and the distinct scent of blood. The worse was the terrifying cold feeling of being close to death's door.

Whenever the nightmares assaulted him, he was actually glad that the pain was there to provide him an escape. Speaking of which, it was creeping up to intolerable levels again. His heart rate always betrayed him when it happened, which meant a nurse would be stopping by soon carrying a syringe with morphine in it. It would stop the agony, but it'll drag him back to tormenting visions that branched from the shooting into all other hidden traumas of his life.

He was beginning to realize the empty darkness was but a blessing in disguise.

Things seemed less blurry than on his previous arrivals to consciousness. The pain was still there, but for the time being it didn't feel like he had fiery daggers pinning him to the bed. He was still very weak, but he could manage some basic movement. The oxygen cannula had followed the vent in its disappearing act and he was glad. He still got short of breath easily but the thing annoyed him incredibly. All in all things were looking up.

From what the doctor had told him, one bullet could do a lot of damage, two were serious, but five? The damage five bullets could cause in a human being had always been lethal until they met him. So a few weeks in a coma and another one in and out of consciousness were a rocky road, but all he had to do was lie down. Now that he had more control over his situation, the real test was about to begin. Become mobile again, endure the physical pain, get back in shape, work undercover and chase suspects. It was a difficult mountain to climb, but he was going to do it, and quicker than anyone expected. He was going to bounce back, because his job was all he had in life.

The next day, Sam stopped by to check on him. He filled him in on the things that he missed, like Macy being transferred and Hetty running the office in her place. Callen considered both women family, but a part of him was glad to work for Hetty again. She was a strong female role model whom he respected and challenged. Like he supposed a mother should be.

Apparently Eric was his usual beach boy at work, despite Hetty's dislike, and Nate was still trying to get inside everybody's head. That was someone he wasn't in a hurry to talk to. Nate the friend he had no problem with, but Nate the psychologist was different, mainly because he didn't know how to separate the two.

The chatting went on for a few more minutes before it got serious. Sam was determined to catch the people that had done this to him, and for that he needed Callen's account of the events.

"What'd you remember buddy?"

"I remember walking on the sidewalk, seeing the blonde Russian girl riding her bike and the roaring sound of an engine picking up speed. I didn't even hear the shots. One minute I'm standing, and the next I'm on the ground unable to move or breathe." He sighed in frustration.

"We're working on it. I don't know about the girl, but we pulled the surveillance tapes from the traffic cameras and matched the plates of the van. Found it torched a few days later."

"Was someone else hurt?" Callen asked alarmed suddenly remembering that drive by shootings took down not only the intended target but the unlucky bystanders that happened to be around.

"Nothing life threatening"

"Good to know"

"We're gonna catch them G" It was a promise Sam intended to keep. He didn't want to dwell on it because he could still see a bloody Callen lying lifeless in his arms whenever he closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"You tell me."

"You've looked better," Sam smirked

"Jeez, way to boost my ego."

"I call 'em as I see 'em. But seriously… how are you doing?"

"Not as bad as it looks," Callen answered, finding his sheet interesting all of the sudden. All he thought about was getting back to work and healing enough to reach that goal took more time than he had patience to endure. "The Doc's got me on some pretty strong stuff, but its gonna take me a while to get back on duty."

"Don't rush yourself. You'll be on your feet and out of here in a few weeks."

"You can count on that."

"Never doubted it. I gotta go back, I'm still on the clock, but I'll bring you something to pass the time later. Oh, and I called dibs on the cute brunette nurse so don't go and play the wounded hero card with her."

"I'll make no promises."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Now here's a surprise… I don't own NCIS: LA or any of its characters. If I did Callen would get hurt more often and would wear a thigh holster in every episode._

A/N: Sorry if it's a little short but I promise the next one will be longer than this one.

Chapter 4

Nobody said the road to recovery was going to be an easy one. He wasn't expecting to run a marathon in a matter of days, but he _had_ expected more progress than he was making. As soon as his dosage of pain meds decreased, they adjusted the bed so he could spend more time in a sitting position. Then little by little the tubes disappeared until only an IV was attached to his arm.

Right about that time, the food was becoming somewhat solid. It was still as terrible as ever, but now at least it was edible. It was a blessing he didn't have much of an appetite. Whenever Sam visited he would bring him tea and something to eat, so he didn't starve. Gradually, he was taken off of medication after medication, until the only thing left was for the pain and anxiety.

In the beginning, he was only allowed to walk very short distances, like to a chair or to and from the bathroom. He thought it was such a simple task, it wasn't worth doing. He wanted to walk to the garden, or at least do a few laps around the floor, but the doctor's orders were pretty clear. Apparently they've dealt with enough cops to know they need to keep a close eye in case they decide to do something stupid. Not that he could at the moment.

He was frustrated. His heart wanted to burst out of his chest and his lungs felt like they were on fire with each breath, each involuntary move of his chest a painful one. His legs wanted to buckle from underneath him, and that was just after a quick walk to the bathroom. Initially, his fatigue was a severe one, even if he tried his best to down play the symptoms.

The first time he got out of bed was easy to cover because the purpose was only to sit in a chair for an hour. The movement pulled the skin around the incisions and if he hadn't had an audience, he would've cursed loud and extensively enough to make a gang banger proud.

He had had stitches before and he always hated the pull whenever he moved. The problem now was the places and the quantity. They weren't there anymore, but the skin was still tight and it made standing up and sitting down a challenge. Physical therapy was all the more painful and slow. At least the doctor was pleased with his progress, even if for him it was more of a slow development.

The first time he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he didn't approve of the man staring back at him. Sunken eyes, pronounced cheek bones, pale skin. He showed very little resemblance to the fit man that charmed people for a living. He knew that what made him so good at his job was his ability to become someone else without much trouble, but right in that moment he felt like someone else entirely, someone who was vulnerable and weak. He didn't like that feeling. He didn't like it at all. Whoever wanted him dead, they had tried and failed to take his life, but they had robbed him of a piece of himself, and he was fighting like hell to get it back.

One day after one of his daily therapy sessions, the doctor informed him he could be released as long as he had someone that could provide him with assistance until he was able to walk around without much effort. At that moment he would say anything if it would get him out of there. He had had enough of the hospital, of the bed rest, the food, the constant in and out of doctors and nurses. Nearly two months was more than his patience would allow. It wasn't until later he realized he didn't have a place to go.

Before he was shot he had been telling Sam how it was time to move again, now he had a valid reason to. That didn't exactly leave him with a get out of jail free card though; he had no place to stay and too much pride to ask for someone's help. Even despite this, he was telling himself that it wasn't really pride, more like self reliance. He had been in the system since he was five years old, if he learned anything from that experience; it was not to depend on others. Sometimes it was hard to forget there were good people out there that he could count on, but he rather not risk it. So after much thought, he decided the best course of action was to talk to Hetty directly about his relocation.

He had to endure Hetty's slap on the wrist, but she came through for him. She worked her magic and found him a suitable place to live in the short amount of time he had given her. That was two weeks ago, and he didn't feel all that comfortable in the new apartment. It had nothing to do with Hetty's pick; it was a great place, very spacious for a single person and accessible for someone in his condition. He just felt slightly unsettled.

However, he planned on staying as long as he was on medical leave. He would find another place once he got back on duty. Maybe before then…

TBC

Ps. Next chapter will be the conclusion.  
Have a nice week!


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Now here's a surprise… I don't own NCIS: LA or any of its characters. If I did Callen would get hurt more often and would wear a thigh holster in every episode._

A/N: Well, this is it. Time to wrap it up. I hope everyone enjoyed the story cus I sure had fun writing it! Thank you to those of you who reviewed every chapter, you made me very happy with all your comments ^^

And now, without further ado, I give you the conclusion.

Chapter 5

Opening the curtains, looking at the world outside his window, and staring at the Ferris wheel going round and round like life with its ups and downs. People walked around, oblivious of the man watching from a distance. His eyes were capturing every detail, but he wasn't really seeing anything. Instead his mind was playing a familiar scene yet again.

He was staring out of the window, reflecting about how much his life had changed since that fifth of May. The sounds, the smell, and the struggle were clear as day for him. He could still hear Sam's voice, even though he couldn't remember the exact words. He remembered feeling the comfort of having Sam next to him so he wouldn't die alone, like he always feared.

But he didn't die.

He didn't need to see the scars covering his torso to be reminded of the world of pain he had been in for the last several months, or how the outcome might have been different with a little less fight from his part. Truth was, he was standing. Not in a crappy hotel room with the very few personal items scattered on a bed he didn't feel like sleeping in, but standing tall, alive. Ready to go back to his life.

Sam teased him about how many places he had lived in since he got out of the hospital. He told himself he was going to stay in one place until rehab was done, but he just couldn't. He had been used to moving around since he was a kid, but back then he didn't have a choice in the matter. Now, he felt like he was suffocating and that he wasn't safe. It was hard to explain, so he made up excuses and moved on to the next one. Sam knew better than to try and pry information out of him, so he just joked around. It made it easier for the both of them.

It's been four months and even though he still has another month of leave he needs to go back. He's got the papers to prove he can do his job, so there's no reason to wait anymore. Everyone knows that Sam doesn't like the decision, so its no surprise when he voices his concerns.

"You sure you're ready to come back?" he asked. At first Callen doesn't really know how to answer the simple question.

What could he say? "I've been ready for a while," or "Of course I am, who are you kidding," or "I'm not sure but I need to know I can still do this job." He opened his mouth, blew a breath and closed it again. Weighting his options, he finally ended back at the joke.

"Who are you, my mother or something?" avoiding the lie he's tempted to make, and managing to get half a smile from his partner. It lightens the mood before they head out to the new office.

The environment might be new but he craves the warmth that's in the air. He appreciated Hetty's welcome, no questions and no pressure. Sure the comment about his wardrobe he could've done without, but that's Hetty for you. As he keeps taking in the new building, his fears dissolve. The moment he starts seeing familiar faces, Eric being his usually geeky self, Kensi his favorite tough girl, and even Nate's questions are welcome, not that he would answer them straight. Even Dom's (the new kid on the block) eager introduction makes him feel glad to be back.

Yeah, he needed to be back, and just like that he jumps into the newest case.

The day goes by very normal, checking the deceased's place, chasing leads and looking for suspects. It's when they're looking for Bobby J. that his fears return. When Sam asks him if he was feeling lucky he thought he ought to answer with the truth this time.

"After last time, not particularly," he replied, and with that they went in. When the bullets started flying, he reacted the only way he knew, he ducked for cover and started firing back.

Sure he had to qualify for his service weapon again; it was a requirement for going back on duty. Just like there was the doctor's final checkup and the psych evaluation. But those last two were a piece of cake compared to this. Facing his fears head on.

Hearing the shots had a different effect on him than words did. The sound of bullets being fired brought back memories he thought he had buried. When he stood in that narrow road, having guys shooting at him and Sam, something felt off. He reacted fast, assessing the situation, searching for the targets and neutralizing them. He'd done it a million times before. After the incident, being in a shooting left a bitter taste.

Once the fire had ceased, he noticed for the first time his heart had practically climbed up into his throat, and his stomach had done an unexpected roll. When he was a rookie, it had been the lack of experience, after years of training it had been the rush of adrenaline, but now it was the realization that he had already faced his mortality once and survived, until then he wasn't sure he would a second time.

He was breathing hard, blood racing through his veins and eyes wide open. But he kept going because the job wasn't done. They found Bobby and he stayed with him while Sam cleared the house. He assessed the injuries and called for an ambulance, and then it hit him. Watching the man in front of him bleeding and struggling to breathe made him think how four months ago, this was the sight Sam was living. Not a pretty one either.

Things worked out that time, they found a location for Manny Cortez, and things were improving a bit. There was still a big question surrounding whether or not the girl was still alive, but he would risk it if he thought he could save her. This is why he liked this job, because it allowed him to save people and put the bad guys behind bars.

Things took a wild turn, the bad guy turned out to be not Manny but the little girl's father, who also happened to know about it being a set up. When he sent the Emma away and took out his gun, Callen's heart began to hammer against his chest for the second time in the day. Starring down the barrel of a gun, all Callen could thing of was that he wasted so much of his life recovering, just to be killed as soon as he was back.

That didn't happen though. Dom turned out to be good in high pressure situations, and was able to give him an opening. A fight ensued, and he wasn't sure how he could handle hand to hand so soon but he was about to find out cause there wasn't much of a choice.

Once he took down the girl's father, he saw the only guy standing aiming his gun at Sam and his heart dropped to his stomach. It was his duty to watch his partner's back there was never a question about that. Sam had saved his life, and now it was his turn. He didn't hesitate; he shot the guy, effectively stopping him from harming Sam. A look of gratitude passed from one partner to the other, no words needed. Together they went looking for Emma and handed her the phone so she could speak to her mother.

All in all it was a good day. Sure, he got shot at, fought hand to hand with the bad guy of the week, and saved his partner's life, but they also returned a little girl safe and sound back to her mother. It was a hell of a first day back…

But he was definitely back.

_Finis_


End file.
